


Wednesday

by ikkiM



Series: Jaime/Brienne Ficlets, Drabbles, Thoughts, Sentences...Maybe Even a Haiku [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:05:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikkiM/pseuds/ikkiM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne comes home from work on Wednesday to find Jaime making dinner, the same way he always does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JustAGirl24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAGirl24/gifts).



Jaime peeled back the foil on the potatoes so they would crisp up, just the way Brienne liked them. He hummed as he added an extra sprig of rosemary to the pork chops. He glanced at the clock. She’d be home from work soon.

He’d just finished setting the table when he heard her key in the door. He turned to her with a smile. She sniffed the air and smiled weakly back at him. Wednesday was always her worst day at work, so he liked to make her favorite dinner and take care of her.

Jaime pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “How was your day, wench?”

She rolled her eyes, but had stopped correcting him when they moved in together three months ago. “It was fine. Typical day.” She shrugged and buried her face in his neck, mumbling, “Yours?”

He gave her a squeeze and rubbed the small of her back where it would ache after sitting in the cheap chairs in Catelyn’s office for her weekly case review meeting. “I got about a thousand words written, so decently productive.”

He was about to go on, telling her about the progress he’d made on his book when he felt her hand plucking at his shirt. Then he felt her suck in a deep breath against his neck. _She must be starving_ , he thought. The pork chops did smell fantastic.

He pulled away from her. “Sit down and let me get dinner. I made your favorites.”

“My favorites,” she echoed, her shoulders slumping. Her day must have been worse than he thought.

—

As Jaime sat at the table, watching Brienne shovel in her food, he tried to find a way to get her to open up. “Did anything exciting happen at work?” He wondered if that asshole Connington needed his jaw cracked again.

“No.” Brienne shook her head. “It’s been a while since something different or new happened on a Wednesday.”

He reached out to cover her hand with his, dragging his thumb across her pinky finger. “You’re home now though, and we are going to have a nice, comfortable evening, just like we always do.”

“Just like last week,” she nodded listlessly.

He was a little worried, but he knew just how to make things better. “You just relax. I’ll clear up and bring you dessert.” He stood and began stacking the plates.

“Ice cream?” she asked.

“Of course, chocolate. It’s your favorite.” He kissed the top of her head as he moved around the table. “And if you’re good, I’ll drop a dollop of peanut butter in it.”

She rolled her eyes. “You always put peanut butter in my ice cream.”

“That’s because you’re always so good. Now go. I’ll meet you on the couch in a minute.”

She sighed, scooted back from the table and rose from her chair, giving him an odd look before trudging into the living room.

—

Jaime thought about offering her another helping, but Brienne hadn’t actually finished the ice cream he’d gotten her. The half-full bowl sat abandoned on the coffee table beside his empty one. She was staring silently at the television, watching _Ellaria’s Angels_ , pretending to be interested. The real problem was, _she was sitting on the wrong side._

When they watched television on the couch, she always sat on his left so they could hold hands. Not that _she_ was bothered by the stump where his right hand used to be. Not even slightly. She never noticed its scars and ugliness. Jaime liked her sitting on his left though, especially during _Ellaria’s Angels_. Around thirty minutes into the show, she’d be so engrossed in mocking the fake fighting skills on display that he could slyly put his arm around her and work his hand inside her shirt, unbuttoning the top along the way. He’d learned to do many things with his stump, but unbuttoning a shirt definitely wasn’t one of them. He rubbed it ineffectively across the back of her neck.

Jaime glanced at the screen. The angels just happened to be in the gardens as two would-be kidnappers arrived and Brienne hadn’t said a word. She hadn’t mocked the angels’ muscle tone, fighting skills or even commented when the youngest one yelled “Hai-Ya,” foolishly drawing the attention of the bad guys.

He bumped her knee with his. “Hey, look, that girl with the whip is just twirling for no reason.”

She pressed her knee into his and nodded. That was better. He reached over awkwardly with his left hand and fiddled with the first button on her shirt. She sighed. He drew away, pulling his right arm from around her.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime asked.

A flush worked its way up her neck. She stared at the screen. “Nothing.”

He grabbed the remote and hit the power button, shutting off the television and leaving them in silence. “Come on, Brienne. What’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

She looked at him meaningfully. “It’s Wednesday.”

He nodded. “Yes, Wednesday. The middle of the work week. You have that long meeting in those uncomfortable chairs.”

“And you make my favorite dinner.”

“Didn’t you like the pork chops? Were the potatoes not well-seasoned? Not crisp enough?”

She shook her head and looked away. “No, Jaime. It was delicious. You’re a great cook.”

He crossed his arms. “I am.”

“I agree.”

“So if the food was good, what’s wrong? I thought you liked making fun of _Ellaria’s Angels_ and their useless costumes.”

“I do, Jaime. I do enjoy that. But it’s _Wednesday_ ,” she said it to her hands this time.

“That’s when the show comes on, Brienne.”

She huffed and reached out to fiddle with her ice cream spoon. “But then about midway through the show—”

He reared back. “You don’t want to make out on the couch with me during the commercials? Is that why you’re sitting on the wrong side with your shirt still buttoned up? You don’t want me to touch you?”

“Oh no, Jaime, no.” She looked at him in horror, dropping the spoon with a clatter. “It’s not that at all.” She broke their gaze again, going back to look at her hands as they began twisting in her lap.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “So what is it then?”

She flushed and peeked at him, as if working herself up to speak. He tried to interpret that particular shade of red. It was almost as dark as the time he’d asked her about the weird packages under the bathroom sink, but she didn’t have the same murderous glint in her eye. It wasn’t the angry flush she got when he tried to skip physical therapy. This look was different, shy, embarrassed but not mad. It was how she looked when she was embarrassed about sex. Maybe she wanted to skip the making out part and just go to bed. Her knee _was_ still pressed into his…

He would make it easy for her. He grinned and tugged at her hand. “Come on, wench, let’s go to bed.” He waggled his brows suggestively.

She pulled her hand away and sighed. “It’s Wednesday, Jaime.”

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “You keep saying that, and I don’t understand. Just tell me what’s going on.”

She lifted her head to stare at the now-silent television set before speaking. “On Wednesdays you make pork chops and crispy potatoes and salad with homemade dressing. After you clean up, we eat ice cream, chocolate with peanut butter, and watch television. At the midpoint of the show, you put your arm around me and try to grope me. Then we kiss during the commercials before we go to bed and,” her voice dropped to a whisper, “do it.” She took a deep breath. “The exact same way we did the week before.”

As she looked back down at her hands, face flaming, he considered what she’d said. He fell back into the couch. “Are you saying you don’t like it? I mean, you told me your back aches from sitting in those cheap chairs in Cat’s office. I thought you liked it if I did all the work every once in a while.”

She turned to him, appearing to gain confidence. “It’s not that I don’t _like_ it. I do. It’s just that’s how it goes,” she inhaled and exhaled before adding, “ _every_ Wednesday.”

Then it dawned on him. He covered his face with his hand before chuckling. “Oh god, we’ve been having Missionary Wednesday, haven’t we?”

She nodded, looking relieved. “I just thought…it’d be more fun to…change it up.” There was a light in her eyes now, an eagerness.

He grinned at her before leaning forward to sweep their ice cream bowls to the floor.

“Jaime,” she gasped. “The carpet!”

“Damn the carpet. We are not going to be one of those boring couples that schedule sex by time, location and position.” He planted a scorching kiss on her lips before ripping open the first two buttons of her blouse.

Brienne’s looked at him, lips swollen, eyes wide before peering down at her gaping shirt. “Jaime, I didn’t mean you should do _that._ ”

“Shut up and get on the table, wench. We haven’t broken any furniture in weeks.”

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of JustAGirl24's Missionary Wednesdays.
> 
> Thanks to [QuizzicalQuinnia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/QuizzicalQuinnia/pseuds/QuizzicalQuinnia) for the beta!


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